


Silver Blemish

by Kurusugawa (orphan_account)



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-11-23 21:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20896052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Kurusugawa
Summary: Makoto always strives to achieve perfection in anything she did. Her wedding is no exception. Despite the beauty of this momentous day, she can't help but notice how Haru's smile does not reach her eyes... [Makoto/Haru]





	Silver Blemish

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this was my entry for the Persona 5 Wedding zine! I got to write for one of my favorite pairs (Makoto/Haru) and it was a lot of fun working on this project with such a great team!

Niijima Makoto is someone who believes in perfection, but not as something one can achieve. It is a confusing concept: Perfection exists in something that the eye of the beholder found appealing, but never has the same definition from one person to the next. A strong mark on a test would be considered ‘perfect’ to one person, but not to another. And even then, there were times where the red ‘100%’ was not good enough.

The ceremony is secluded in Gora Park, a place not commonly reserved for such traditions, but it was amazing what connections could do. The _minka _at the top of the hill and the flower-wreathed fountain is truly a sight she would commit to memory. There’s a blend of traditional Japanese and European influences with some guests donning kimonos, others wearing dresses. Everything they put their money into has been granted.

It’s not exactly perfect, but it does exceed her expectations.

Sae helps her that afternoon, straightening out the wrinkles in Makoto’s dress suit, running fingers through the veil clung to the hair accessory, letting it cascade down her back. The headband fitted against her head is of woven silver, diamond stigmas surrounded by the polished white of faux flower petals. She just hopes the veil won’t catch on something… that would _hurt_.

Makoto catches sight of the dew gathering at the corner of her sister’s eyes before she is pulled into a hug. “You look beautiful...” Sae says. Quieter, “You’ve come so far. I’ve never been prouder of you.”

There’s a lump that swells in her throat. ‘Thank you’ seems too hollow, but she says it anyway, wrapping her arms tighter. “And I’m happy you’re here.” _I’m so happy..._

Growing up, she had expected someone to _lead _her to the altar, like _her father_—

She allows Sae to guide her to Okumura Haru the minute the doors part. Neither one of them would walk to the altar alone. Their hands had been linked when they had confessed (Makoto’s fingers had trembled, but Haru’s smile had eased her heart) and she still remembers the pavement that bit into her knee when she withdrew the ring. It is not the image of a ‘traditional’ wedding she had grown up believing in. But it is _her _wedding, and it is as perfect as it can be.

But not as breathtakingly perfect as Haru.

She’s captured in a sea of white, lace embroidered sleeves stopping at her elbows, dress dipping into a V-neck, the skirt brushing at her feet as she walks. Her lips and eyes are carefully painted (no doubt the work of Ann). Silver barrettes and jewelry catch in the shafts of afternoon light, winking back as she turns her head.

“Mako-chan,” She giggles softly. “You look lovely.”

They step into the sunlight, walk down the path to the fountain. It’s a small reception, something she and Haru agreed on. Only those they consider family and those they could trust had been invited. Had Okumura Foods been invited, they would no doubt have had microphones and cameras shoved in their faces.

“As do you, Beauty Thief.”

“H-Hey, that’s...!” It is one of the few things she can say that successfully coaxes the pink blush to Haru’s cheeks. Makoto’s laugh joins hers.

Vows are exchanged beneath the crisp spring air, a promise of a union that Makoto knows won’t break. She can feel the stares of her friends, the Phantom Thieves, digging into her and Haru both, from Ann’s quiet crying to the genuine smile tugging at Yusuke’s lips. Later that night, Futaba will tease Ryuji for crying (“I just had somethin’ in my eye! ‘Sides you were cryin’ too!” “Was not!”) and they will dissolve into laughs and talk as if they were high school students again.

Now Makoto is not praised for her observant nature for nothing. She locks eyes with Haru, and the look in her wife’s eyes is so quick she swears she imagined it. But then Haru is pulling herself together as she always does, and Makoto feels her soft smile in the kiss.

“I love you, Makoto.”

There’s a beat of hesitation on her end, caught as her mind scrambles through the details of the wedding (Had _she _forgotten something? Did Okumura Foods’ current CEO try to contact Haru that morning?). Makoto’s head dips in a slow nod, smiles through the accumulating panic that drives her blood to pound against her brain.

“I love you too.”

Though everyone claps and cheers, and though Haru’s eyes light up, Makoto can’t help but inwardly cringe at the hollowness of her own words. Haru is hiding something.

❦❦❦

It isn’t until the lull before the final photo does she get the chance to sit down and ask.

Perhaps it is luck that the camera experienced a sudden malfunction. Something about the aperture and other camera terms Makoto is too unfamiliar with to try and help. But when she sits with Haru on the stone steps, the technical issues are the farthest thing from her mind.

“Thank you for today, Mako-chan.”

Makoto tilts her head just slightly, confusion sparking in her. “You pulled your own weight for this too, Haru. Don’t undersell yourself.” And it is true. Most of the financing for their reservation and the food (albeit for a small group of people) had been all thanks to Haru. _She _deserved the credit, not Makoto herself.

“Did you have a good time?” Her hands lay in her lap, the wedding band glinting strongly against the backdrop of her pale skin.

_It was perfect. I don’t want this day to end_, she almost says. It is then she realizes Haru isn’t quite looking at _her _but rather the ring adorning her finger. A small, cut amethyst darker than the color of Haru’s eyes, but just as powerful, sat cradled by small diamonds that blinked in the evening sun. They had both decided on the stone, wanting something that would keep negative influences and attachments at bay...

...or so the tiny card had read. Makoto always found it funny how people put so much belief into the power of stones. But Haru had lit up at the meaning of amethyst, so who was she to say no?

Her hand is warm beneath Makoto’s palm. “What’s wrong—”

“I could ask you the same thing,” And their eyes meet, concerned and shocked. “What’s bothering_ you_?”

The silence is one of the most awkward bouts of silence she’s had to sit through. There’s the cackling of the fountain spray as it slaps against the surface of the water, the fumbling of people who oversee the photoshoot, and then, of course, there’s Haru. She does not withdraw as she would have, had this been seven years ago, giving a flimsy excuse that silently begs the listener to step back. Instead, she stares ahead, unseeing.

“When I was younger, I always thought my wedding was something out of my control. I would do as told and marry into a rich family to keep Okumura Foods standing tall. The idea of loving someone, as much as I wanted it, would not exist had certain things not... happened,” she says. “A lot has changed, and I’m thankful for all of you. But the day you told me how you felt, love was no longer a dream. It was _real_, and it was genuine. It was nothing like the false pleasantries I had to show when I was with Sugimura...”

Makoto’s eyebrows knit together, hand curling into a fist. She had not seen Sugimura since their graduation, but he still held the title of ‘Scum of the Earth’. There were times Makoto wanted to hurt a person, a living, human being. They were rare, but he always managed to stir up such horrid emotions. “He didn’t try to contact you, did he?”

She shakes her head. “I never would have met Sugimura had it not been for my father. And I never would have met the Phantom Thieves if Okumura Foods cared for its employees.”

Her heart stutters then. The glimpse she caught of Haru’s face when Sae ‘handed’ her Makoto, the lack of a person standing by Haru’s side, the distant (melancholy) glimmer in her eyes before they kissed at the altar... How could she have been so _blind_?

“I must sound so selfish,” She continues with a bitter smile, eyes dropping to her lap. “They’re not at fault for any of this. Even if he were here, his conscience wouldn’t let him feel anything but guilt. My father would have been there regardless of how I felt about Sugimura. I would walk down the aisle as he gave me to a new family. I’m grateful for today from the bottom of my heart...” She pauses. “Please forgive me for thinking of something impossible. I still haven’t forgotten the terrible things my father has done. This is _our _day. I shouldn’t make this about me.”

“Haru...”

“You’re like an anchor, Mako-chan. Even though I was sad, I reminded myself that you were there—and you always will be. I hope you feel the same for me. I will do my best to support you as I can. So I apologize for forgetting that, as brief as it may have been...”

Makoto doesn’t think. She acts. Haru’s dress bites into her torso, and Makoto is cautious so her fingers do not mess the silver in her light auburn hair. The lacy fabric makes her palm itch, but she doesn’t care. “There is nothing to apologize for,” She assures before pulling away, weakly frowning back at the astonishment etched into Haru’s face. “I’m sorry _I _didn’t...” Her words break into a sigh. She could have had somebody with Haru—Sojiro would have gladly volunteered had they known, had Makoto paid more attention. He was not Okumura Kunikazu —_not Haru’s father_, _not _her_ father—_but he cared deeply for them all just as he cared for Futaba.

“You can’t apologize either,” Haru cuts in, voice sharpening into something sterner.

“I know,” (She doesn’t.) “But I wish you said something earlier...I wish there was something I could do about this.” (‘_He’s here in spirit’, ‘He _did _walk you down_’... It all sounds so rehearsed. So _fake_. No amount of logical thinking or solutions were going to replace a late father. _She _knew this herself.)

Haru counters gently, “You did. It’s thanks to you why our wedding is so memorable. I haven’t forgotten how you stayed up all night to plan for today.” She takes Makoto’s hands in hers. Though there is a sheen to her eyes, her gaze is tender and not so malleable to tears. “He wasn’t here and that’s okay. I have you and our friends.”

Makoto blinks, opens her mouth to speak although the words elude her. She is not given the chance when one of the photographers waves them over, camera fixed. A part of her wants to tell them to wait, to cancel the last photo, but Haru is rising to her feet, gently tugging at her. She’s beginning to wish they stuck with the traditional Japanese wedding. Just a little.

They endure it together and wait for dismissal. Makoto does not unlink their hands as they step towards the _minka_. Really, she should have _expected _their friends jumping out at them the minute they stepped inside. Ryuji, Ann, and Futaba are first... then Akira and Yusuke, with a not-so-discreet Morgana who hides in the bag at Akira’s hip. Her heart swells in her chest and bumps against her ribcage as they congratulate them both, rushing them to the center of the room.

“May I have this dance?”

She turns to Haru as the music rolls from the speakers. Everyone watches them closely, but Makoto can only focus on _her_. Their hands touch once more that day. Her smile is as radiant as everything else.

“It would be my pleasure.”


End file.
